I held her while she cried.
For a long time, neither of us moved.
Then she lifted her face.
We were close enough that I could see the tiny gold flecks in her brown eyes.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth.
“Alex,” she whispered.
My heart pounded.
I knew what she was thinking because I was thinking the same thing.
I wanted to kiss her.
I wanted it badly enough that I had to remind myself to breathe.
But I also knew she was hurt, angry, and exhausted.
I stood up abruptly.
“I should make coffee.”
She looked away.
“Of course.”
I walked to the counter and switched on the machine.
Behind me, she said, “I’m sorry.”
I turned.
“For what?”
“For almost making a decision because I needed to feel wanted.”
I looked at her.
“Maybe you wanted to kiss me because you wanted to kiss me.”
She went still.
